Blush
by Nostalgic Sin
Summary: They glanced at her before looking at each other, sharing wicked grins that prompted Hermione to run away. But somehow, she felt compelled to stay. And she really, really wished she had listened to her instincts because just then, they kissed.


The new picture of Malfoy was so devastatingly erotic, I almost killed myself.  
  
  
  
**Blush**  
_Nostalgic Sin_  
  
  
  
  
Hermione Granger was in an isolated greenhouse, sopping wet and looking ridiculously like a wet rat. Her hair was no longer in its honey-golden waves that cascaded gently over her shoulders but rather resembled thick, drenched string that clung to her face. She thought she had calculated correctly: from the minute the clouds began to gather up in an ominous grey and drowning out the sun's bright shine to the point of a cloudburst, where torrents of rain came pouring down, relentlessly. She had begun to run towards anything that could offer her shelter, but, in the process of doing so, had caught herself in the storm. Now, miserable and wet, she was surely a sight to behold and she could think of no other option but to wait quietly until the rain ceased.  
  
Oh, but of course she could have just run out on the grounds and across the fields since she was already wet, but Hermione Granger was not one to endure all that running again. She made a mental note to attempt to stray from the library and do some fulfilling exercises.  
  
Silence followed, as she prompted this new idea with heavy thought.  
  
In the end, she noted how the idea was simply a lost cause on her part. Hermione Granger _loved_ books and nothing could keep her away from them. Save Harry and Ron, of course.  
  
She released a sigh, watching a puff of light mist hover before her lips before fading away. She looked down at herself and frowned. Yes, she was wet. Her normally thick robes now seemed thin as they clung tight to her figure, accentuating curves she thought she didn't have, or rather tried to pretend she didn't have. And when they finally made their appearance, she blushed furiously and tugged at the collar of her robe to toss it to the ground. It wasn't so much as her innocence that compelled her to rid of these curves, but she figured [since fourth year] that maybe it would be better if she hid anything that remotely proved she was female. She didn't want to be frighteningly self-conscious and she certainly didn't want to re-live the event where Harry and Ron finally recognised her to be a _girl_, rather than their tag-along best friend.  
  
It was scary, really.  
  
So, left in her white blouse and pleated skirt, she sat down on the ground, shuddering from the cold. She looked, warily, at her robe and finally relented, picking it up from the ground and merely wrapping it around her shoulders. Better than nothing.  
  
The rain, rhythmic and soothing, began to lull her to sleep. And she was glad for it. But, in the process of doing so, hot gasps filled her ears and her eyes snapped open. She looked left and right and saw nothing. These gasps sounded suspiciously human, so it was a wonder she saw no presence in the room.  
  
She pushed herself on her feet and dusted herself off. She laid her robe on a nearby table and began to roam around the greenhouse, treading softly. These gasps (and she swore she heard someone say, _Oh ... gods..._ on more than one occasion) escalated higher and higher until sudden silence. Stopping mid-step, she listened for any signs of movement. This, she did, for she heard the rustling of material and the murmurs of two people, one sounding very familiar.  
  
Hermione was about to peer around a potted tree that had grown quite a bit during the previous summer but stopped, abruptly, when her eyes suddenly fixed on a similar pair, only heated and ice-grey.  
  
Draco Malfoy.  
  
He grinned his snarky grin, much to Hermione's dismay, and watched him shrug on his robes that she hadn't noticed were off to begin with. He leaned one hand on the table beside him and stared at her.  
  
Well, Granger. What brings _you_ here?  
  
And why she couldn't have thought of anything more witty was now beyond her.  
  
She responded, mindlessly. Where was the banter? She silently groaned and managed to withdraw the urge to smack her head against the nearest object possible.  
  
He chuckled, then, and she was unsure if it was genuine or if he was making fun of her. It was most likely the latter.  
  
Of course. Rain.  
  
She nodded, dumbly. Well, I best be going. Bye.  
  
And she really was going. She was walking away from him. She was opening the door. At least, that's what she pictured herself doing because right then, she was rooted in her spot, mesmerized by the unreadable gaze Malfoy, the ferret, was giving her.  
  
He arched one of his slender brows, inquisitively.  
  
Anytime soon, Granger?  
  
  
  
And why. Was. She. Not. Moving? Well, this was certainly a turn of events.  
  
The blonde-haired Slytherin sighed and shook his head.  
  
Then, he said, Pull your knickers back on, Zabini. Looks like Curious Granger won't be leaving just yet.  
  
_Zip!_  
  
And then, he came from behind the tree that Malfoy had previously come about. Blaise Zabini. Tall and handsome. He was very much like Malfoy, except he wasn't as aristocratic and he wasn't as sinfully gorgeous. Still, he had striking features all the same. Hermione had never been quite this close to him before. Actually, she was never _this_ close to a Slytherin before. Except for her second year where Malfoy had walked up to her and insulted her, cruelly. But that was a completely different situation because that was all spats and blind hatred. This, now - it was quite odd. Three people standing so close to each other that their own breaths that escaped their lips were warm against their cheeks. They were three people who had yet to lift a finger on the other.  
  
Potter's friend? Blaise asked, quietly.  
  
Hermione then noted how young and fresh and pacifying this Zabini's character's voice seemed, despite his being in Slytherin.  
  
Yes, unfortunately. Came by here because of the bloody storm.  
  
Blaise nodded. I'd have expected that.  
  
She looked at the two youths with uncertainty, looking from one to another. Silence seemed to be a friend of hers as of late because neither of them bothered to say anything, although the boys had this eerie habit of looking at each other, as if reading each other's eyes, and looking back at her as if she were the centre of their musings. Suddenly, the atmosphere shifed. Because then they glanced at her before looking at each other, sharing wicked grins that prompted Hermione to run away. But somehow, she felt compelled to stay. And she really, really wished she had listened to her instincts because just then, they kissed.  
  
And it was certainly no chaste kiss, either. Malfoy, always appearing as the dominant sort, was now being held against the table between the arms of Blaise Zabini, as they kissed each other with vigor. They both looked at her again, lips still locked, and grinned before resuming their passion-flared act.  
  
Her knees were buckling and heat seemed to gather at the base of her neck. She felt flushed, dizzy, and gods - she wanted out.  
  
No longer feeling rooted to the spot, she dashed out of the greenhouse, failing to notice the amusement in the howling laughter that echoed soundly.  
  
  
  
  
  
Draco grinned, haughtily, as he recalled the flushed Hermione that had bolted out of the greenhouse and into the rain. He recalled her wet skin and the way her clothes were deliciously wrapped against her body. Oh, he had felt the ache in his loins as he looked at her - the filthy mudblood that she was. But that hadn't been the point.  
  
The point was for either he or Blaise to corrupt her, as dirty as that sounded. It had started out as a simple conversation. One thing led to another and a bet was formed. One of Potter's friends was to become weak and powerless in the hands of one of the two devious Slytherins. Harry, as charming and disgustingly saintly as he was, seemed decent but he still didn't favour him. The Weasel disgusted him and, because the Weaselette was related to said Weasel, she was also a wretched thing. Then, there was the mudblood. She was an easy target. And, apparently, Blaise was thinking the same thing that afternoon after a bit of foreplay.  
  
He didn't dare deny that Slytherins were good for one thing: physical comfort. And they were all talented and there was no point in wasting good talent. So the two male boys had used it, experimented, which led to the genuine curiosity of a brown-nosing witch. A rather pretty and _feminine_ witch. The same witch they had agreed to demoralize.  
  
And step one was to publicly display their so-called It was an act, yes, but at the same time it was wildly invigorating. Blaise Zabini was gifted. That part was certainly true.  
  
All in all, it started out and finished well. Hermione had her first glimpse into the world of a different kind of relationship - not necessarily inter-house, which was also different, but this- _this_ was truly something else. And she had run away, embarrassed and perhaps a bit excited?  
  
The latter bit might have been a long-shot, but whatever caused her to run was something that tempted him to pull down his pants and head into the Head bathroom for a cold shower.  
  
He smirked.  
  
Head Boy and Head Girl. In the same tower.  
  
He chuckled before closing the door to his room. Silence reigned for a few moments and, when soft grunts had begun to build in pitch, the crackling of thunder and the harsh _pitter-patter_ of rain drowned them out.  
  
  
  
  
_end_   
  
  
There. Boy!Blaise / Hermione / Draco love. Smut! (I'm kidding ... unless ...) You know, Boy!Blaise really drives me over the edge and yet I don't know why, considering I don't know much about his character. All I know is that I'm willing to jump him. So there.   
  
And yes, yes, there is OOC but I like to think it to be the fault of the new picture of Draco/Tom. I blame it all on him and his stupid fingers and wickedly, kissable lips ... oh hell, just the whole package, alright? If you don't like OOC, I don't know why you bothered to read in the first place. I did warn you. Hm.  
  
Now I'm off to play with Draco and his elegant hands. Mess around with Photoshop. Guh. Who can _resist_ those bloody gorgeous fingers of his, _anyway_?  
  
And, if you're curious (although ... doubt continues to tell me otherwise), I do write under a different alias. Just thought you'd might like to know if you suspiciously recognised my style. Puh.  
  
So, should I continue this? Or should I leave it as is because it's frighteningly OOC and any more of this character annhilation would have you heaving and scratching out your eyes? Ah, either way, I don't care. I can benefit from both choices, anyway. Review, please!


End file.
